


Howler Coppertop of House Venus

by redjill



Category: Red Rising Trilogy - Pierce Brown
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst and Romance, Canon Compliant, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff to Dark, Main character growth and change, POV First Person, POV Original Character, R rated romance, Slow Build, Teen Romance, Trigger warnings for later chapters, Very sporadic sexytimes, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-01-20 04:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12424779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redjill/pseuds/redjill
Summary: Liliana au Ursus is a Bronze: slow, awkward, plain. Her peers deride her as "Copper" for her strange hair and submissive demeanor. She has managed to survive the Passage of Mars' Institute. Yet she fears that she has made a terrible mistake in attending the Institute in the first place.





	1. Welcome to House Venus

I am not supposed to be here.  
I am not supposed to be alive.  
On my hands and knees I stumble, naked, out of the cold, dark stone room into a well-lit hallway. There I collapse. I have blood on my hands. My stomach lurches, and I vomit onto the smooth carpet. I roll over onto my side, into the fetal position. My body shivers, despite leaving the colder, barren room for the warmer hallway.  
How did I arrive here?  
There were Obsidians, two of them, and a bag was forced over my head. I went willingly. I did not know what would happen, but it was not worth fighting two beings who are bred to kill.  
There was the room, dim lighting, and Proctor Venus was there. There was a ring. And… another girl.  
She was tall, well formed, beautiful. A typical House Venus draft. When I left her, she wasn’t beautiful anymore.  
I vomit again, and begin to heave uncontrollably until my face burns. I let loose a loud sob and collapse back into the fetal position. It is then that I realize I’m gripping tightly onto a small object tucked into my left hand. I open my bloody hand, trembling. It is a gold ring, signet-style, with a feminine hand holding an apple, the symbol of House Venus.  
Was it worth it, to kill for this ring? I grimace and emit a strange cry, tucking the ring back into my palm. I do not want to look at it. I do not wish to put it on.  
Then the realization strikes me: I was supposed to be the one lying dead in that chamber. This was yet another form of Societal quality control; weed out the underlings, cull the flock. The dead girl, the girl I killed, was chosen number thirty-seven out of a class of one thousand. I was number eight hundred and ninety-four.  
Why am I even here? I was not Institute material, or so my tutors had suggested. My parents, however, had gone; my father was in House Neptune, my mother, House Jupiter. My mother had done fairly well in her house, almost making Primus. My father had not done as well. He was in the early lead for Primus, but Neptune had been the first House to fall that year, and so he spent the rest of his term as a slave. That much I knew from my parents.  
They never told me about the Passage.

I lie on the carpet for what seems like hours, motionless except for the occasional heaving sob. I then hear soft footsteps, lightly treading on the carpet. I do not bother to look; I almost believe that I am imagining them. But then I hear a heavy sigh, a mumbled “Pathetic Copper.” The footsteps pass me and continue on.  
I crane my head and see a thin yet shapely girl, nude, with medium-toned skin and long pale golden hair, make her way slowly down the hall. Her right leg has a deep gash, and she limps, very subtly. Yet she maintains her poise and grace. A highDraft, no doubt.  
I hear more footsteps, approaching, passing, and fading away. Most ignore me. Others snicker in scorn.   
“Feeling sorry for yourself, I see,” says one. I pull myself up on my right elbow and watch a beautiful dark-skinned boy with high cheekbones pass me. His full lips are curled into a cutting smirk. “I’m surprised you’re even still alive.” He does not stop, but proceeds down the hall to join the others.  
I suddenly feel ashamed of my nakedness, of the puddle of vomit on the floor beside me, and of my tears. I wipe at my tears with the back of my right hand, only to smear my blood mixed with my victim’s on my face, into my eyes. It makes my eyes water even more.  
I pull myself up off the floor, in time to watch a thinly muscled boy approaching. Still clutching the ring, I hide my face as I trot down the radiant hallway. I hold my right arm across my chest, hiding my breasts from the others. I know that other Golds typically are unashamed of public nudity. I am not a typical Gold.

The hallway seems to go on forever, when at last I come to a vast dining area, furnished as a stately European Renaissance manor hall. Guilt carvings of chubby winged infants embellish each corner, some with bow and arrows, grinning as if to mock our arrival. Off to the side, steam rises from a room. The other students form a queue, some chatting without a care, others holding onto each other in comfort. I get in line behind a shorter girl clinging onto a much taller boy. He kisses the top of her head repeatedly as she cries into his chest. At least I’m not the only one who is devastated by what has taken place.  
Within are a series of simple shower stalls, stocked with shampoo and glycerin soap. Basic commodities, but they do the trick. The soap burns the cuts on my knuckles, but in my state I barely feel it. I watch as the blood rinses off my body, turning pink as it mixes with the water and runs down the drain.  
“Do hurry it along, Copper!” an impatient high-lingo speaking female voice implores behind me.  
“Sorry,” I mumble. I wash the ring in my hand until not a speck of blood remains. I strain the water from my hair before wrapping myself in a plush cotton towel.  
To the right is a stack of cubbyholes, labeled by name. I take the black and gold striped fatigues under my floating name. I pull them on, trying not to let others see my trembling hands. In a small side pocket, I carefully store the ring. I wait for a mirror. House Venus students seem to behave as their stereotype suggests, not being able to pull themselves away. Their vanity is perhaps only exceeded by those of House Apollo.   
If I had been born a Copper, I might have been considered attractive. I’m a bit taller than the average female Gold, and have the sculpted bone structure of my elegant mother. But I’m overweight, thin-lipped, small-breasted, as pale as a lowRed, and, worst of all, my hair carries a suspiciously reddish hue.   
Are you sure your mother did not breed with a Copper? Does the Board of Quality Control know you’re a Copper? I cannot count how many times others have asked me these questions. I cannot count how many times I had to have my blood tested to prove to suspicious adults that I am actually Gold, however low bred.

I take a seat as far away from the other students at the grand mahogany table at the center of the manor hall, ignoring where my name floats over a seat a little closer to the Primus plaque. Bowls of shining red apples lie in the center every few feet down the table. I take one, but simply roll it around in my hands to stop their trembling. The chattering of many of the students and the soft sobbing of a few others blends into noise in the background. I can only see the apple rolling in my hand, and hear the sound of my heart beating in my ears. The overbearing sound I heard earlier, in that dark cold chamber. With that lovely girl of Gold. Taunting me, her voice as if under water. I had lunged at her. There was an animal cry, and I was on her, my hands around her throat. Then I had hit her. Again. And again. And then…  
The spell is broken when the hall falls silent. “Greetings, students of House Venus!” a clear, sweet feminine voice rings out. “Welcome to Venus Manor!”  
I look to the front, and there stands Proctor Venus in similar black and gold fatigues to our own, save for a badge of a mirror and an apple at her shoulder, and badges of apples at her throat. She wears a golden girdle accentuating her already tiny waist. Her shimmering golden hair is piled elegantly on top of her head. Even in fatigues, she still manages to look as though she is about to attend a formal event on Luna.  
“You have completed one of the most difficult challenges in the Institute: the Passage. You have proven that you are of worthy Aureate stock and have the potential to succeed in your class.” Her voice is as spun sugar, but her forced smile is reminiscent of a Pink stewardess who can barely take one more day of her job. Her eyes are fixed on the back of the room over our heads. “However, you face many tasks ahead. There are eleven other Houses across the southern Valles Marineris. Our nearest neighbor, House Mercury, is just across the Argos River. They have often times been our greatest rival.” Her right eye twitches a bit. Obviously House Mercury has long been a pain in the shapely side of House Venus.  
“But…” she pauses for dramatic, rehearsed effect. How many times has she made this exact speech, year after year, to class after class of pretty-faced, apathetic spoiled children? “You are all of House Venus. You are lovely. You are charming. You are clever. You have the power to make peace--” she extends her open palms towards us all, “in order to win the war.” Another smile, this time more genuine. She still has some pride in our House. “We are alliance-makers, future politicos and senators. Let other Houses deal in fire and gore. Our graduates have often gone on to become the true power behind our great Society.” Proctor Venus crosses to the glittering white granite stone, touching the golden Primus hand. “Do well, and you will have your pick of worthy apprenticeships. Do poorly, and all the beauty and charm you can muster will not save you from terraforming operations in the Kuiper Belt. That is, if you survive your year here first.” Another smile, and a giggle this time, as though to mock the losers. “And, if you are able to defeat all other eleven Houses as Primus, the Society is, as the ancient saying goes, your oyster. Now,” she claps her delicate hands together. “Does anyone have any questions?”  
Several students politely raise their hands, most of them sitting closest to the Primus stone. I tune them out, turning the apple around in my hands before deciding to take a bite. When the question and answer session among the most ambitious students and Proctor Venus is over, we are served a light vegetarian supper. Many House Venus students are either staunch vegetarians, or are very concerned about their figure. Some barely touch their food because they have no appetite, while others barely touch it because they are little Peerless Scarred in training. I poke my fork into the roasted tomatoes on my plate, and they squish slightly.   
Bloodgutssquishedbloodbloodblood…   
Nausea rolls through my body. I grab a napkin and lose bits of apple, getting a few chunks on my new fatigues. I feel judging eyes on me as I stand up and run for the nearest doorway. I don’t care where I go. I want to run far away and hide. Instead, I end up through a plush hallway, into a small sleeping quarter. There is a bunk bed with soft mattresses, and white sheets under a pale blue down comforter. I crawl into the lowest bunk and bundle myself up, shivering, though it is still barely chilly. Another sob escapes me.  
I thought I could do this. I thought I was strong enough.   
I can’t. I’m not.


	2. Orientation Day

I blink my eyes. White light streams in through a nearby window. For a split second I’m not sure where I am. I don’t recall ever falling asleep, or dreaming. The entire night before comes roaring back into memory. It’s best I did not dream, then.  
Above me I hear a soft stirring, a feminine mumbling sound. A yawn, a stretch, and suddenly a pair of dainty feet and legs dangle over me to my right. A lithe bronzed girl hops off the bunk, wearing only her underclothes. She turns and gives me a sleepy, sideways glance. I immediately feel very small. I realize I fell asleep in my fatigues. I rub my eyes and find there are crusty tear tracks down my face.  
She pulls on her fatigues draped carefully around the foot of her bunk, runs her fingers through her hair, and splashes water on her face from a basin in front of a wooden vanity. “Ugh…” she mutters, and I feel embarrassed for watching her. I turn toward the flower-shaped stained glass window.  
“You’d best get up, Copper,” she says, moving to the doorway. Her voice is soft, breathy, but with more than a hint of pride and condescension. I remember it, from last night. She was the girl who passed me in the hallway. She called me “Pathetic.” The limp she had last night is gone now, the gash in her leg bandaged. After a beat I hear her let out a heavy sigh and leave the room.  
I contemplate staying in bed forever. I don’t know how I’m going to face my fellow House members, those perfect highDrafts with their statuesque features and cold, cold eyes. What can I possibly offer House Venus? What can I possibly offer the Institute?   
A short time passes before I hear a loud knock on the open door of my chamber. “Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead!” a loud, cheerful male voice calls out. I turn over and my heart skips. A tall, light-skinned, thinly muscular boy with bright laughing eyes and a dimpled ear-to-ear grin stands in the doorway. “It’s the first day, mustn’t dawdle!” He crooks his head playfully towards the hallway, then turns and leaves, still smiling that holoStar smile. “'Lo, Paris!” I hear him yell. “Long time no see! Oy, help me wake these Pixies up!” Boyish laughter echoes down the corridor.  
I’m stunned for a moment, then crawl out from my bed. I brush off my fatigues as if that will somehow remove the wrinkles. I follow my roommate’s lead and splash icy water on my face from the vanity basin. I look in the mirror. My eyes are red-rimmed, my eyelids so puffy I can barely see out of them. I wet my hands and place them on my lids, hoping it will make the swelling go down. After awhile I look in the mirror again. I look exactly the same. I am a mess. How I ever ended up into the House of grace and beauty is beyond me.  
***

I’m not sure at all what to expect from our first day of the Institute. I barely recall anything that Proctor Venus told us last night. There was something about making peace to win the war, and House Mercury is our greatest rival, and… my head begins to throb, and I massage both temples as I hurry down the hallway to the large manor hall.   
There are at least two dozen rooms, each with a vanity, a bunk bed, and a small bathroom. The same round flower shape of the windows is everywhere; I remember learning that this symbol is the path the planet Venus traces in the sky over eight years, as observed from Earth. Smooth curves abound, with nary a sharp corner in sight. The style of the manor appears to be a mixture of Tudor architecture and Baroque décor, with a hint of Italian Renaissance thrown in for good measure. It’s a strange mixture to be sure, but somehow it steps just shy of gaudiness. House Venus students are notoriously allergic to bad taste.  
A number of the students are already gathered in the manor hall, chatting among themselves, giggling and flirting. A muscular boy tosses a curly haired girl an apple, and she catches it with ease, smiling at him as she takes a rather suggestive bite. It seems as though the night before has already become a distant memory for this group of students.  
Once the hall is completely filled and everyone is in attendance, in steps Proctor Venus from out of nowhere. In her right hand is a long wooden staff topped with a golden apple. In her left is a black garment bag. The hall falls silent. That false smile returns to her lovely face.  
“My dear students of House Venus. Today is Orientation Day. I hope you are as excited as I am!” She does not seem all that excited. Perhaps she once was, but that was years ago. “Today we have a little surprise for House Mercury.” Her smile becomes a mischievous grin. She does seem somewhat excited about getting back at House Mercury. I get the sense that they did a number on House Venus last year.   
She has the students’ full attention as she unzips the garment bag. Inside are several diaphanous, very short, very revealing white togas lined with golden thread. Her smile spreads as she admires the togas. “Now then. When I call your name, please step up and receive your bathing attire.”  
The crowd of students begins to mumble, confused as to what Proctor Venus has in store for House Mercury. One thin feminine hand shoots up near the front. “Yes, Claudia?” Proctor Venus asks my roommate.  
“Begging your pardon, Proctor Venus,” Claudia begins politely, but still with that haughty undertone. “But what have these… togas… to do with House Mercury?” It’s clear that she finds the togas distasteful.   
“I’m glad you asked,” replies Proctor Venus, though she seems less glad and more annoyed. “Today we’re going to learn a lesson in seduction, in entrapment. House Mercury students are intelligent, yet highly impulsive. They assume their wits will get them out of any scrape. What they often underestimate is the intelligence of their opponents. They assume that because an opponent has a pleasing shape or appears docile, they are less of a threat. We are going to teach them that as lovely as we are, we are still a force to be reckoned with.”  
Claudia frowns. She is not content with that answer, but she keeps her mouth shut as Proctor Venus begins to call out the names of a dozen highDraft students. Claudia receives a toga, as does Patricius, the handsome boy who urged me out of bed earlier. He twirls the toga around on its hanger as he sits back down, and makes a joke with the familiar dark-skinned boy next to him, Paris, who throws back his head and laughs.  
Of course, I do not receive a toga. If House Mercury were to see me in that, they might run in the other direction.  
“If I have called your name, congratulations!” says Proctor Venus cheerfully. “You are to take part in our first offensive against House Mercury.” Claudia raises her hand again. “Yes, Claudia?” Proctor Venus’s right eye twitches.  
“Pardon me, Proctor Venus, but how are we to fight House Mercury in these things? Why not simply fight them nude if we’re to distract them by such means?”  
Before the Proctor can answer, Patricius raises his hand to speak. She points to him, and he stands. “Oftentimes it is more alluring to hint at nudity rather than to reveal it completely. Otherwise Pinks would simply walk around naked at all times and not bother with clothing.” He addresses the group. “Yet if any are in doubt, I propose we put the issue to a vote. With your permission of course, Proctor.” He nods and gestures with an open palm to Proctor Venus.  
“If you think a Demokractic approach is wise, Patricius. I am only here in an advisory capacity.”  
“Limited Demokracy can be useful. How else would a leader rule without the support of those around him… or her?’ He nods towards Claudia, who offers a tight-lipped smirk in response.  
A vote by show of hands is taken. I do not raise my hand, remaining neutral. The students side with Patricius: the highDrafts will wear the togas and follow Proctor Venus’s plan.   
My eyes drift over to the Primus plaque. Patricius’s name erases, then reappears closest to the golden hand, an additional gold bar beside it.

***

We follow Proctor Venus outside the manor, past a small courtyard and herb garden, over a small drawbridge across a moat, through an apple orchard and vast rows of rose bushes to the shores of the River Argos beyond. A vast open plain stretches out on either side of us and directly ahead, an ocean of dried grasses waving in the warm summer breeze. Bright morning sun sparkles on the waters of the mighty Argos. I’m overcome with longing for my home in the hills outside of Yorkton, where, on a clear day, the view stretched all the way to the sea.   
I force myself into the here and now. Beyond the opposite shore to the northeast is a series of small mountains, where a tributary of the Argos begins. To the southeast the plain continues until it hits a dark line of trees, and beyond that lies the glimmering shoreline of the South Sea. Interrupting a clear view of the entire plain and the western border of the Greatwoods, slightly to the south of us across the Argos, is an unassuming group of small yurts. Nearby along the banks are a number of primitive canoes and small boats.   
This must be House Mercury, our closest rival. They certainly don’t look like much. 

Proctor Venus, wearing a golden pair of gravBoots, takes off into the air above us. We’re on our own. Behind me and the other mid- and lowDrafts stroll the highDrafts, now in their bathing togas and leaving little to the imagination.  
“Are you regretting this already?” teases a deep male voice behind me. I turn. Paris playfully slaps Patricius on the butt as the latter adjusts his too-short toga. Before I can stop myself, my eyes wander over Patricius’s broad chest and down to his muscular legs. I feel my face burning despite the cool breeze from the river.  
“Hush, you.” Patricius shoves Paris rather hard. Paris stumbles towards me, then catches me staring. He turns and gives Patricius a smug look, one golden eyebrow cocked. Patricius turns towards me and our eyes meet. His eyes are bright gold, large and surrounded by long dark eyelashes. There is a warmth and life in those eyes that so many of the Aureate lack. “'Lo,” he says, that solar smile never leaving his face. “Prime morning for a first day, am I right?’   
I spin around so fast it’s a wonder I didn’t spin myself like a top. I mumble something that vaguely sounds like “good morning,” and, shoulders hunched and face reddened, I stomp away from the others. Behind me I hear a loud male laugh.  
I have no grace. At all. I might as well stay out of everyone’s way. I make my way back to the edge of the rose garden and sit in the soft grass, where I have a clear view of the others without being able to make out the embarrassing details underneath those dated togas. I watch as Patricius splashes Claudia with river water at the bank. She responds by shoving him in, landing on his butt. Paris runs past them both, splashing at them and then diving gracefully into deeper water. Nine more highDrafts follow, splashing and laughing like water nymphs out of a Greek fantasy. Patricius dives at Claudia, grabbing her around the waist. She squeals in delight. I look away in disgust.  
It’s then that I see movement along the opposite shore. I stand, eyes fixed. Perhaps it was a shorebird… no, it’s larger. The reeds along the opposite bank shudder and shake, but not in the wind. I move closer to the river. Before I can shout a warning, a half-nude figure in camouflage paint lets out a war cry and lunges at the nearest bather.   
It seems to happen in slow motion. A House Venus highDraft turns, crouches… and with both arms flings the confused intruder all the way to our shore with a thud. Proctor Venus reappears out of thin air above the group of mid and lowDrafts on the shore and tosses them the apple-topped standard. One midDraft catches it and in one swift, graceful motion subdues the intruder by pressing the apple to his forehead.  
More screams from the opposite shore, and a small horde of students, all in camo paint, appear from the reeds, from beneath the canoes, and from under the water, pulling reed-shaped snorkels out of their mouths. Some even emerge from the mud near the reeds, like deranged swamp creatures, all holding sharpened bamboo pikes. The Venus students crouch and pull up wooden staffs from the river bottom, tossing them to each other. They were expecting this.  
The Mercury students are lightning fast. Most are small in stature. One boy, shouting orders to the others, appears to be almost a head shorter than many of our students. He looks all of twelve years old, and his voice is high in pitch, as if he hasn’t quite hit puberty yet. However, they’re a force to be reckoned with. Even with the advanced notice, the Venus students have more difficulty taking them down than the first student. A boy with fluffy hair pokes at one of Claudia’s breasts with his pike. She groans loudly in disgust, and he makes kissing faces at her as she lunges at him with her staff. She misses, and he backflips like a Violet circus performer in the shallow water. She swings the staff at his ankles as he lands, and he leaps as though he’s jumping a rope. She swings again, and again he jumps. This happens five or six times, and all the while he’s grinning like a fool. I let out a laugh in spite of myself. He finally stops when another midDraft on the shore tosses Paris the House Venus standard, and Paris uses his expert-level Kravat moves to trip the frizzy-haired troublemaker in one elegant swoop of his left leg across the boy’s ankles. The House Mercury student falls flat on his back with a splash, and Paris presses the end of the standard to his forehead.   
Suddenly there is the woosh of gravBoots above, loud amused laughter, and another Golden figure in black fatigues appears as though by magic. He’s not quite pudgy, but he’s very round in shape, as if made up entirely of circles. He wears a sunny smile on his dimpled face, his curls shining in the bright sunlight. Proctor Venus folds her arms, and he does a loop de loop around her like a mad electron in the air. Curious, I inch closer to their position.   
“'Lo, Venus!” the round jolly man yells in a somewhat reedy voice. “Lovely morning, is it not? I so love Orientation Day, don’t you?”  
“'Lo, Mercury,” Proctor Venus says, bemused. All of her false sweetness is gone. “I was wondering when you’d show your fat face.”  
Mercury twitters and does a backflip. “Meow, Venus! No need to be catty. I was simply away preparing a special surprise for House Jupiter.” The sun catches his gravBoots, and I can see golden wings attached to their sides. How appropriate. “How do you like this year’s crop?”  
“Mine or yours?” Venus allows herself a small smirk. “Yours seem woefully unprepared this year.”   
They watch as the House Venus highDrafts subdue the last of the House Mercury students in the river, the rest of the Venus students on the bank cheering their Housemates on. The little Mercury leader retreats along the opposite shoreline with several Venus students hot on his heels, screaming like a girl as he goes.   
Proctor Mercury is unperturbed. “Alas, I’m afraid I was not able to secure the best of the best this year. You seem to have luck on your side. Yet then again, your House had a prime start last year too. Unfortunately it was not to be.”  
Venus gives him the side eye, but her smirk does not waver. She’s enjoying this. “I have a feeling that luck is on my side this year, regardless of my House’s immediate fortunes.”  
Mercury pretends to do a backstroke in midair. “And who, may I ask, helped you to secure this rash of luck? Pray tell, is it Pluto?” She shakes her head and a few golden strands come loose from her updo. “Mars?” She makes a face and shakes it again. “Min-er-va?” he coos teasingly. Venus blushes and shakes her head again. Mercury stops mid stroke and flips upright, face in his chubby hands. His voice lowers, a wicked grin spread on his face. “It wouldn’t be Apollo, would it?”  
“No!” Venus yelps, a little too loudly. Some of the other students stop and look up at her. “That arrogant Pixie prick? Never! I’d rather bang Mars in public than be caught dead with that rat…” she trails off when she realizes that her students are watching.   
“I’ll be sure to let them both know,” Mercury purrs. Venus bites her lip. He’s hit a nerve. “Speaking of Mars, I’m still down in the dumps about losing that sublime specimen to his sad little House. That boy is meant for greatness, I can tell. Pity.” He pouts, then sighs. “But I’m very pleased with what I managed to secure this year.”  
Venus lets out a derisive snicker. “Looks like my students have managed to secure yours already.”  
“I’m not too worried,” Mercury replies.  
Proctor Mercury is far too confident for a proctor who just lost nearly his entire House on the first day. Something’s wrong. I turn back to Venus manor. A black and gold figure streaks by a window in the distance. My mouth hangs like an idiot.   
We’ve been so stupid. We forgot to leave guards behind to cover the manor.  
“Uh, guys,” I mumble, my mouth stumbling over the words. No one hears me.  
“Guys?” I say a little louder. I look to the Venus students on the shore, who are busy tying the Mercury students up with twine made from woven grasses.   
“Something’s not right at the manor!” I look up to the Proctors. Mercury is now flirting with Venus. She pretends to be repulsed, but the way she plays with a stray lock of hair and slouches towards him suggests otherwise.   
My face flushes with anger and frustration. I ball my wounded fists. “Why won’t anyone listen to me?” I bellow. “There is something going on back at the manor!”  
Proctor Venus finally looks down at me. Her mouth opens as if to speak when there is a loud crash from within Venus Manor. Everyone at the riverbank finally turns, stunned. All except for Proctor Mercury, who has the toothiest grin on his round cherub face. He brings his hands up to his cheeks, making them look even rounder, and emits a strange high-pitched chortle, like a naughty chipmunk.   
I don’t wait for the rest of my House; I sprint without thinking back towards Venus Manor, through the rose garden and the apple orchards, across the drawbridge, until I am in the courtyard. I stand there, mouth agape, watching as black-clad figures seem to dance back and forth across the windows. One of them emerges through the doorway, then another, then several more. Some carry mirrors, toiletries, blankets. One carries a large, gold-plated statue of one of those creepy cherubs.  
Then, one by one, the House Mercury students take to the air.  
“GravBoots?” shrieks Proctor Venus as she and Proctor Mercury float close to the manor. “You gave them gravBoots?”  
“Well, just the highDrafts,” replies Mercury. “And they’re not exactly top of the line either.” As he says this, one of the flying Mercury students loses control of his boots, tumbling into the moat with a scream.   
Venus is apoplectic. Several beats pass before she is able to form words. “How… how is… how is this even legal? Students are not allowed to use advanced tech until the end of the year!”  
Mercury chuckles, trying to calm Venus by patting her shoulder. She flinches away from his touch. He shrugs. “It’s just for Orientation. I don’t expect the gravBoots will be in operation beyond today.” Another flying student goes tumbling into the rose garden. “Some being worse off than others.”  
More Venus students rush towards the manor. A few stay behind, guarding the enslaved Mercury students at the riverbank. I turn to watch my Housemates approach, and a hand from above grabs the collar of my fatigues firmly. Before I can react, my feet leave the ground. I scream, legs kicking out in vain. Soon I’m several meters off the ground. I hear a giggle and look up. A dimpled boy with large teeth and fluffy curls gives me a mocking grin. He holds my collar in one hand, and in the other holds the Mercury House standard. Swooping past the Proctors in midair, he touches the cold metal of the top of the staff to my forehead. I feel a strange frigid sensation, like being branded with ice.   
His grin grows wider and he turns to the flying Housemates on his tail. “Looks like we have our first slave!” The House Mercury students respond with whoops and birdlike cries. The dimpled boy tosses the Mercury staff to a Housemember who has flown in front of him. She catches it with ease, then dives like a missile towards the Argos. There she attacks the Venus students guarding their new slaves. The short-haired girl has the clear advantage, hovering like a fairy in front of my Housemates as she dodges their offensive.  
Before I know it, I am being flown across the river, headed straight for House Mercury’s encampment.  
No. I will not become a slave on my first day.  
With all of my strength, I swing myself in the air, kicking my legs up as though I am about to perform a backflip. I had practiced my backflips many times back home, and never seemed to stick the landing. But that does not matter now. My right knee impacts with Dimples’s forehead, and with a grunt he lets go of my shirt collar. Then I’m falling several meters, into the Argos.  
I hadn’t thought about the landing.  
I hit the water chest first with a painful slap, then sink to the river bottom like a stone. I try to cry out, but end up inhaling a mouthful of water. Panicking, I flail like a wounded fish, but cannot seem to move. Just when I start to think that this might be my end, a tall pale boy dives in and grabs me. The figure’s golden hair floats around his head as he pulls me through shallower water, to shore.   
Once my head is above water, I hurl up the water in my lungs, gasping and coughing as I grip the shoreline like a lifeline. My lungs ache, and I continue to cough up water as I look over at the bent figure on the shore to my left. He pulls his sopping wet hair back from his face and smiles. It’s Patricius.  
“You all right?” He puts his hand on my shoulder. This only makes me cough harder, but I nod.  
“Good. Gave us quite a scare for a moment.” Patricius stands, water running off his half nude body. Seeing this sends me into yet another coughing fit. He turns and waves to someone behind him. Paris, who is busy pulling out the House Mercury student who fell into the rose bushes, throws Patricius the House standard from meters away. He catches it like Thor catching his hammer.  
He looks like a god. Meanwhile, I’m hacking up fluid and lying in the mud.  
“Here, let me take care of that for you first,” he says. Patricius places the top of the standard to my forehead, and I feel warmth this time. He looks down in approval. “Much better.” I avoid his gaze by staring at his bare feet. They’re long, thin, and rather bony.  
He shuffles them awkwardly. “Uh... you’re welcome?” It’s only then that I realize he was holding his hand out to help pull me up. When I don’t respond, he chuckles a little as he withdraws it, shaking his head as he walks back toward the manor.  
I cough, lowering my forehead into the mud. First I almost become a slave on my first day at the Institute, on Orientation Day. Then I humiliate myself in front of the beautiful boy who saved my sorry ass.  
It just keeps getting better and better.


	3. Fair-Weather Felicia

After the disastrous offensive against House Mercury, Proctor Venus holds one last Q and A session in the manor hall. I linger in the entryway, clutching my muddy boots in one hand, dripping water all over the carpet. Our Proctor’s sweet mannerisms are for the most part gone, replaced by a sardonic tone of voice. One of the midDrafts brings her a hot cup of tea made with herbs from the garden, and she relaxes a little as she sips it. Venus’s hair is half falling out of her updo, her girdle is partly uncinched, and she massages her left temple with her free hand.  
Our class of fifty has been reduced to thirty-nine. Those missing have been taken as slaves, while we only managed to keep three out of the few dozen Mercury students we had originally taken. The three sit in a corner of the manor hall, playing some sort of slapping game with their hands. Their speed is uncanny. Occasionally Proctor Venus shoots them a withering look, and they quiet down for a few minutes. Then they start back up again.  
A fellow Venus student asks what we are to do about food. Proctor Venus utters a deep sigh, not bothering to hide her irritability. “As a House we are quite lucky in terms of resources. Perhaps not as lucky as Ceres, but bountiful enough. You have access to clean water, and unlike nearly all other Houses, you have indoor toilets. There is an herb garden, a vegetable garden, an apple orchard, and a vast rose garden. There is also the Argos, which offers fish and other wildlife, if you prefer. But no one is going to harvest these for you. No one is going to prepare them for you. There are no Browns or Pinks to tend to your needs. You will also need to maintain these resources. Mercury, for example, is lacking in many resources, and will do whatever they can to either steal or sabotage ours. House Venus is wealthy, but is also very vulnerable. Defend your resources and placate your enemies, and you have a chance at success this year.”  
I feel another ache in my lungs, and I begin to cough. Several of the students turn and give me irritated looks. I take the hint and leave for my quarters.  
When I get there, I realize that the bathrooms do not have running water. I leave my boots in the bathtub and hurry back to the manor hall for the front door. I feel my Housemates’ eyes on me, but the only thing I can think of at this time is getting out of these wet clothes and washing them.  
I make my way through the courtyard. Forming the sides of the courtyard are a pair of smaller buildings not connected to the main manor house. Through one door is a large vat, a boiler, and several stills. Countless empty glass bottles line the back of the room, and the area smells strongly of roses. Through another is a huge metal tank and a number of barrels and casks. Through the third door on the opposite side is a much smaller room than the other two. Inside is an ancient-looking water pump with a few large wooden buckets scattered around it. This is what I need. I fill one of the buckets near the brim with water and stumble with it back through the manor house.  
When I am done washing myself along with my wet clothes and dirty boots in the bathtub using rose-scented soap, I lay them out to dry by the open window and curl up nude in my bed. Down the hall I hear a student yell, “Who dripped this slagging water all over the carpet?” I pull the covers over my head.

I don’t know how long I lie there before I hear a soft knock on the bedroom door. What do they want? I sigh. May as well get it over with. “Come in,” I call from under the covers.  
I lower the covers enough to peek one eye out. It’s a girl, very thin and petite, with stick-straight dusty golden hair and enormous almond-shaped eyes. She looks around the room nervously before she sees me. “Is... is Claudia here?” she stutters. “I was told these are her quarters.”  
I uncover my face when I see that she is not here to yell at me. “No, but I’m her roommate.”  
“Oh!” She flips her bangs out of her face. “Terribly sorry to disturb you! I didn’t wake you, did I?”  
I start to sit up but remember that I’m naked. I hold the blanket tighter around myself. She doesn’t seem phased by it, instead being caught off guard more by the fact that I am here instead of Claudia.  
“No, no,” I say. “I was only waiting for my clothes to dry.” I start to cough.  
“Oh, good!” Her voice is rather squeaky, and her speech is rapid fire and upbeat. Much more of a typical Mercury draft than Venus. She sits on the foot of the bed as though we are old friends gossiping. “Hey, I remember you! You were that girl who almost got abducted by one of those flying Mercury students. Then you fell in the river.”  
I look down at my blankets, ashamed. “Yeah, that was me.”  
“No no no! I mean, that was really impressive, how you managed to get away from him. Eleven of the others couldn’t even do that.”  
I start to argue with her, but then I hear my mother’s voice in my head. Learn to take a compliment once in a while, Liliana. “Thank you,” I mumble.  
“You’re welcome!” she says in her cheery voice. “I feel very lucky to have ended up in this House, don’t you? So many interesting people here!” She giggles and tosses her hair back. “By the way, that boy who saved you from the river? Patricius? He’s really something, is he not?”  
“I guess so. Hadn’t really noticed.”  
The girl smirks. She can tell I’m lying. “It’s all right, really. If you like, I can introduce you properly. If you introduce me to Claudia, that is.” Her smile widens.  
“Maybe.”  
“Great!” She says this as if I had answered yes. She stands, still smiling that toothy grin. “I believe it’s time for dinner. Patricius and Claudia have been assigning jobs to the mid and lowDrafts already, so we already have cooks and harvesters. They’re both such great leaders, along with Paris. I wonder which one will become Primus. I’m hoping it will be Claudia, of course.” Her eyes twinkle and she giggles again. She snaps back down to earth. “Anyway, prime meeting you! What did you say your name was?”  
“Liliana.”  
“Nice to meet you, Liliana! Everyone calls you Copper, right? May I call you Copper?”  
“Um.” I would much rather that she not, but I am not sure how to tell her without offending her.  
The girl doesn’t even wait for an answer. “Prime, prime! I’ll see you at dinner, Copper!” She waves her hand rapidly and waltzes out the door, leaving it open.  
I realize that I didn’t even ask her for her name. Neither did she tell me. I try to remember which name was floating by her seat last night. I recall the name Felicia was nearby. That must be it.  
At that moment Claudia saunters in and heads to the bathroom. She growls in frustration and sticks her head out of the bathroom doorway, scowling. “Copper? Next time? Can you please clean the bathtub after you wash your filthy clothes? Thank you...” She returns to the bathroom.  
I’m irritated by her attitude towards me, though she does have a point. I rub my face and climb out of bed, headed to the window. The sun is setting over the mountains, casting them in gorgeous shades of oranges and purples. I pull my underthings and fatigues from the windowsill. They’re not quite dry, but they will have to do. I need something to wear and I’m famished. I cannot remember the last time I had a full meal that I was able to digest.  
I finish putting on my boots when Claudia emerges from the bathroom. “Claudia?” I ask, my voice small and meek. This is the first time I have spoken with her.  
“Yes, Copper?” She fusses with her hair in the mirror.  
“Do you know a girl, one of the other Venus students? She’s short, very thin, has straight hair and bangs? Speaks very quickly?”  
“That Bronzie?” Claudia dismisses her with a snort. “Yes, I’ve seen her.”  
“What’s her name, Felicia? She came in here earlier, asking about you.”  
“Oh really?” She chuckles as she pinches her cheeks. “How cute. I suppose that’s her name. I did not notice and frankly--” She purses and puckers her lips. “I don’t really care.” Claudia turns. “Don’t forget to clean the tub, Copper.” She strolls out, cool and graceful.  
I mutter under my breath, “Yes, mother.”

*** 

After spending far too long cleaning the bathtub for Claudia, I make my way down the hallway to the dining hall. I can already smell the mouthwatering aroma of cooking vegetables and herbs, and my stomach groans in anticipation. Most of the students have already finished and are chattering amongst themselves. In the corner nearest me, a boy and girl kiss with abandon. Looking around I see that many of the students have begun to pair up, most boy/girl, some boy/boy or girl/girl. In center sit a small group of students surrounding Claudia, Patricius, and Paris. The popular clique has already formed.  
A petite girl with straight hair approaches Claudia and speaks. The girl rubs her arm over and over as she talks to Claudia, her smile wide but nervous. I cannot hear what she is saying. Claudia narrows her eyes, searching the girl’s face. She says something in reply, and the girl waves her hands in defense. Claudia turns and snarks at Paris, who makes a snide comment. The entire table laughs, except for Patricius, who grimaces. The girl bites her lip and scurries away to the opposite side of the room.  
I feel for this girl. She could very well have been me.  
No one appears to be serving dinner, so I walk into the kitchen, where I find a smattering of covered pots cooling on the stove. I find a clean plate in a cupboard and spoon helpings of garlic sautéed vegetables onto it. I have to hold my mouth shut to keep from drooling as I grab a fork and head out to find a seat. I spot the sulking girl who the popular group had mocked, and now recognize her.  
Poor Felicia. To have been so eager to meet Claudia, and to have been treated in such a cruel manner. Perhaps I can cheer her up a bit. I make a beeline to her table and plop down across from her. “Hi, Felicia,” I greet her warmly.  
Felicia’s head flicks up, her eyes cold. “It’s FEL-EE-SEE-AH, not FUH-LEE-SHA,” she snaps. I’m struck dumb by her tone. The perky, friendly girl from only a few minutes before has vanished. “And what kind of archaic word is ‘hi’ anyway? Around here, we say ‘lo.’ Prime?” As she glares at me I hear a snicker from the other students nearby.  
My jaw works, trying to form words in response, but none emerge. My face burns. I rise, manage a soft “sorry” and stumble towards the kitchen with my plate, tears already threatening to fall.  
“Unbelievable,” I hear someone mumble behind me.  
I don’t even turn to see whether or not they are talking about me. I already assume they are.  
***

I do not spend any time in the main hall after dinner, as the other students do. After weeping into my food in the kitchen I head straight for my room, making sure no one sees me. I could not stand to see the others so happy, making new friends as easily as they do. Although my life has always been lonely, and I hadn’t many friends to begin with, I have never felt more alone than I have at the Institute.  
Tired of crying, but not yet tired enough to sleep, I sit up in bed with the lights off, watching tiny points of light zigzag among the stars in the window. Spacecraft, likely, headed to parts of the system unknown. What would it be like, to take off in a ship to Earth, or to the Outer Rim? I have never left Mars, so I can only imagine.  
I wish, more than anything, to be in a ship headed far, far away from this planet, far away from this awful school and its students, far away from all of it. To live a new life.  
I leave my bed and go to sit in the window seat, where I can get a better view of the sky and the dark mountains to the west. Drowsiness begins to cloud my mind, and I start to consider falling asleep in the window seat. But something catches my eye. At the very corner of the window, northwest of us, is a bright orange glow coming from between two of the mountains. I press my face against the glass to get a better look, and hear a faint, deep, low hum, like that of a great machine echoing off the stone walls of the mountains.  
It must be another House. Which one, however, I cannot say. Neither can the others; we have as of yet no knowledge of the locations of the other Houses, save for Mercury. Our map in the great hall lies largely empty.  
I wonder what the other Houses are up to, what strategies they are planning. Or are they fumbling, much as we are? Thinking about it unnerves me. For all we know, they may be planning an attack on us tomorrow, and we will be caught with our proverbial trousers down.  
But what can I do? I am only one of the dregs of my House. This powerlessness is both frightening and strangely comforting. I continue to watch the orange glow and listen to its song until I fall asleep.


	4. Hide and Avoid

The next morning, I have to peel the side of my face from the window. My back is in agony from curling myself into the window seat all night. I limp across the room to pull my clothes on and get ready for another gorydamn day. Claudia’s bunk is neatly made, as though no one had even slept in it.  
Did she spend the night in her room? Or in someone else’s?  
My stomach sinks when I remember Claudia and Patricius splashing in the river together yesterday.  
No, don’t be silly. Claudia is no Pixie. She would never jump into bed with someone she had met a day or two ago. Would she?  
I try to force jealous thoughts from my mind as I enter the manor hall, but they vanish completely when I see the crowd that has gathered at its center. Dozens of students murmur with excitement to one another, all surrounding six other students. Six students who had just yesterday been made slaves of House Mercury.  
I squeeze my way through the crowd, garnering protests from several students. A wavy-haired girl with a face like a Renaissance angel and curves like a Pink holds everyone spellbound with the tale of their escape.  
“Serena, how did you manage to distract the guards long enough?” a deeply tanned boy with long, narrow features asks.   
A devilish grin slides across Serena’s angelic face. “That’s between me and the guards. However, I will tell you in confidence, Marcus.” She whispers into Marcus’s ear. His large eyes grow even larger, and he begins to giggle like a moron.  
It’s then that Claudia, who is standing on the outskirts of the crowd, begins to clap her dainty hands to get our attention. “All right, everyone! We can chitchat later! It’s another morning, and work needs to be done. We need cooks in the kitchen and harvesters outside. Let’s go!” Low and midDrafts grumble, some rolling their eyes when Claudia isn’t looking.  
“Great job, everyone!” Patricius chimes in, ever the cheerleader. “We’ve managed to deal quite a blow to House Mercury.”   
He is seated at one of the hall dining tables, a very old paper book open in front of him, other books scattered nearby. He returns to his reading, chewing on a wooden pencil between notes he scribbles into an old-fashioned paper notebook. All datapads and other communication devices were confiscated before the school year started. The Proctors have set us back to the Preindustrial Age.  
As the other students leave to start their day, Claudia approaches Patricius and looks over his shoulder. He taps his pencil and licks his lips. “This book has all the information we need to begin producing fragrance, rosewater, and rose products. That may seem superfluous, but I believe it will give us an edge over other Houses, particularly if they lack the tools of proper hygiene, as Proctor Venus hinted. We may be able to form trade alliances with other Houses, in exchange for protection. It seems silly, but roses might help us win the war.”  
Claudia nods. She is about to respond, but instead she turns toward me, eyebrows furrowed. “Did you not hear what I said, Copper? Cooks in the kitchen, harvesters outside.”  
I am taken aback. I hadn’t realized that I was just standing there, watching the two of them. “Oh! Well-- I wasn’t really assigned to either position last night.” I chuckle nervously and tug on my sleeves.  
Claudia rolls her eyes. “Yes, that’s because you were hiding in your room for the entire day. Go on outside. You’re a harvester.” She waves a delicate hand at me as though I were an annoying lowColor child begging for money. Patricius looks at me over his shoulder, his face a neutral blank stare.  
My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I turn, and as I leave for the door I hear Claudia say, “That girl is an odd one. A bit of a creep, if you ask me.”  
“Odd, yes, but she’s harmless,” Patricius replies.  
Claudia says something else, but I am already too far away to make it out.

***

By the time I am in the vegetable and herb garden, the other lowDrafts and Mercury slaves are already harvesting all the available produce. I pace aimlessly for a bit before a midDraft hands me a bag of seeds and a trowel, and sets me to work planting. It’s the hardest work I have ever done. Sweat rolls down my face and back, though a cool breeze sends the apple trees across the moat rustling, a harbinger of autumn. I glance at the other students nearby; their faces are barely glowing. But I am the most heavyset of my House, and rather out of shape. I let out a deep sigh, and flick the dirt that begins to gather under my fingernails before starting again.  
At the same time, however, I am grateful to have an activity that takes my mind off of other things. Like Claudia’s derision. Or the fact that I keep humiliating myself in front of Patricius.  
At least he doesn’t think I’m creepy, as Claudia believes I am. I wish I could find a way to talk to him, like a normal person, having a normal conversation. The way the others are able to. Why should he intimidate me so?  
He’s only the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.  
“'Lo there, good morning!” a girl chirps behind me. “You look so serious planting carrots!”  
I turn, and there stands Felicia, grinning at me, tiny hands on her tiny hips. Acting like we’re pals this time.  
What the goryhell is wrong with her? It’s as though she never snapped at me last night. I refuse to return her smile. “'Lo, Fee-lee-see-a,” I reply, stretching out the pronunciation of her name more than necessary. I return to my task. I don’t have time for her games.  
“What’s wrong, Copper?” Out of the corner of my eye I can see her tilt her head, trying to invade my field of vision. “Planting isn’t much fun at all, is it? I’m glad I got up early to finish my portion of the harvest, so I can have a little free time. The students that escaped last night managed to bring back a bunch of books from Mercury. Most are about battle strategy, some are about farming, but there’s some literary fiction they found that I’m just dying to dig into! I love to read, don’t you?”  
Felicia really does not remember how she acted last night. She continues to talk my ear off without stopping for breath, about her favorite books, her favorite literary genres, et cetera. I nod politely until my head feels as though it will topple right off my neck.  
“Well, I had better get moving before someone else claims the best works! See you inside when you’re done!” She gives me that toothy grin and manic wave goodbye, flailing her hand like she’s trying to swat a mosquito buzzing around her face.  
I manage a small smirk and flap my hand at her half-heartedly. I watch her head for the door, only to bump right into Patricius, who is on his way out.  
Don’t stare at him, I tell myself. Don’t be creepy. Pretend like he doesn’t matter.  
Yet I cannot help but strain to hear their conversation.  
“I want to apologize for my friends last night,” he says, his voice serious and sincere. “They should not have made remarks at your expense. I hope you know that you’re a valuable member of this House.”  
Felicia shakes her head, smiling and chattering away, gesturing frantically with her hands. Patricius’s eyes glaze over, a confused half smile forming on his face.  
Then he turns and looks right at me. “Something I can help you with, Copper?”  
I’m stunned. It’s then that I realize that I am not only staring at him again, but that I’ve risen from my knees and moved closer to the doorway where they’re standing.  
Gorydamnit.  
“No, nothing,” I manage to say, avoiding eye contact. Instead, I find myself gazing at his broad chest and narrow waist, recalling how the sunlight caught the beads of water running down his half-naked torso after he pulled me from the river.  
One of his long-fingered hands gestures at me, encouraging me to look upwards. “Hey Copper.” I follow the movement of his hand to his grinning face. He winks at me. “Eyes up here.” Felicia lets out a giggle.  
Without a second thought, I take off running, headed towards the back end of the manor, passing confused mid and highDraft guards. I lose my trowel somewhere along the way. I don’t really care. I just need to be alone, to clear my head.  
I know not how long I lie sprawled out in the small empty field behind the manor house, staring out at the sprawling hills and the vast mountain range beyond the moat. I watch the bright late summer sun trace shadows across the eastern slopes, watch the winds blow the wild prairie grasses back and forth, listen to the deep musical hum of the strange machine in the distance. Without the others of my House, life seems so simple.  
I wonder what would happen if I were to escape. To leave Venus Manor and set off on my own. Climb the mountains, explore the Greatwoods. Steal a boat from Mercury and paddle down river to the sea.   
I start to plan. Tomorrow, I wake just before the dawn. I will pack as much food as I can without raising suspicion. Then I will make my way to the Argos, where I will ford the river and make off with one of the boats. As long as I keep moving, I should be able to avoid capture. And even if I were enslaved by another House, would it be so much worse than digging in the dirt like some lowColor peasant?  
I’m not certain. Yet it couldn’t hurt to try.

***

Early the next morning, right before sunrise, I steal as many vegetables and apples from the kitchen as I can carry. I wrap up the food in a bundle and tie it around one of the staffs the other students used to fight House Mercury on orientation day. Then, taking a deep breath, I open the front door carefully, quietly.  
The morning is a faded teal blue, the only sounds those of birdsong and the rush of the Argos. Guards assigned the night shift patrol by the moat. The drawbridge, the only way across, is up.  
Seems I hadn’t thought this through all the way.  
I am considering making the impossible jump across the moat when I feel a hand on my shoulder. My heart leaps into my throat and I start.  
“What the goryhell do you think you’re doing?”  
When I turn around, there stands Claudia with a severe scowl on her pretty face. I must have woken her up when I left.  
I cannot think of anything to say. I stand there, frozen, mute.  
Claudia narrows her eyes, but says nothing. Instead, she takes my arm in a firm grip and drags me over to the drawbridge. A passing guard wishes her good morning and with a nod, lowers the drawbridge for us both. Claudia pulls me across the bridge, her grasp far more powerful than her petite stature would suggest.  
When we reach the shores of the Argos, she releases me, gesturing to the boats across the river. “Go on,” she huffs. “This is what you were going to do, wasn’t it? Run away, hide, avoid? What you’ve been doing ever since you got here?”  
Her words are not those of encouragement. I’m overcome with a deep sense of shame. I lower my eyes, avoiding her stern gaze.  
When I do not answer, she continues. “Why are you here, Copper? From what I’ve seen of you, I have no clue how you survived the Passage. You’re weak, spineless, and you shirk your responsibilities. I should just let you go right now. Maybe we’d be better off.”  
I feel tears threatening to fall. I will them back. I won’t let her see me cry. I swallow, and turn to face the Argos. She’s right. House Venus would be better off without me.  
Yet Claudia takes my arm once more, spins me back around. She lowers her head until our eyes meet. I furrow my eyebrows, confused.  
“But that cannot be all that you are.” Her tone softens, though only a little. “You were the one who noticed Mercury’s incursion first. You avoided capture when some of our higher drafts could not. In any case, I expected more from you than to just head off into the great unknown with nothing but a boat and some produce.”  
As I let her unexpected words sink in, Claudia straightens. Her eyes dart to my right hand, then my left. “Where’s your ring?”  
“My what?” I hold up my hands, studying them.  
The ice in Claudia’s voice returns. “Your House ring. Why aren’t you wearing it?”  
I had forgotten all about it. I scan my memories of the last couple of days. Had I lost it already? I know it isn’t in my room. I pat my fatigues down, and feel a small lump in one of the side pockets. I reach in and pull out a small golden ring. It has adjusted itself to fit my ring finger.  
Claudia is incensed. Her face reddens, but her voice remains as frigid as crystals spreading across a winter pond. “Someone died for that ring, you fool. Not wearing it is like spitting on their corpse.”  
She is absolutely correct. I place the ring on my right ring finger, and it sparkles in the rising sun. I flex my hand. It does not feel so heavy as when I first held it.  
Claudia relaxes, nodding. “Right then. You’d also do well to honor that person’s memory by making an effort from now on. You won’t survive by fluttering away every time things become difficult. You may not look it, but you’re Gold. Act like it.”  
Although her words are harsh, they’re oddly comforting. In a way, Claudia reminds me of my mother. “Thank you,” I say.  
“You’re welcome,” she replies. We turn and walk back to the manor. “Though I want you to show me some effort from now on. Today we begin the rose harvest, and the others have already started. You have to pluck the flowers and get them to the vat before the sun starts to heat them. Stupid, I know, but that’s what Patricius told me.”  
We pass through the rose garden, now filled with mid and lowDrafts, and Mercury slaves, all wearing leather gloves we were given as a reward for recapturing our enslaved Housemates. I hate to think how difficult the harvest would have been had we not received those protective gloves.  
“Head to the boiler room,” Claudia tells me. “There you will find some extra gloves. You’d best hurry, Copper, if you--“  
Claudia stops in her tracks as a low roaring sound echoes throughout the entire valley. It builds, becoming so loud that the harvesters stop what they’re doing and put their hands to their ears, looking around in confusion.  
“Goryshit,” cries Claudia over the cataclysm. I had never heard her curse like that before.  
Along with dozens of others, we rush to the empty field directly behind the manor, facing the distant mountain range. Before our very eyes, an entire cliff face crumbles, forcing a chain reaction and sending a massive avalanche of rock careening downwards. A cloud of dust plumes, then collapses, rushing at us with startling speed. I hold my arm up to cover my eyes as it envelopes us, the other students squealing and shrieking as the particles consume us.  
When the dust finally settles, several of the students continue to cry out, sharp particles painfully settling into their eyes and nose. I make sure that my eyes are clear before I open them, my arm still over my nose and mouth. I choke back bile when I see that some are bleeding from the corners of their eyes.  
“Remain calm!” a deep masculine voice calls out. Paris rushes among the wounded, grasping onto a few of their hands and arms. He too is covered in dust, though not injured. “Find a partner and hold on, then follow me to the well!”  
Patricius appears, completely untouched and still holding a book. He curses under his breath, drops the book, then hurries to help the blinded and injured link arms. A sobbing girl stumbles toward me, and I grasp her hand tightly. I find another wounded student, and we all stumble in the direction of the pump room.  
Once there, the wounded quiet down as the unharmed students fill buckets and help them flush their eyes and face with cool, soothing water.  
After washing the dust off a Mercury slave, Paris turns to Patricius. “What do you suppose that was? It couldn’t have been natural. What does it mean?”  
“It means that shit just got real,” Patricius replies. I expect him to lighten the mood with a luminous grin or a joke. But the look on his face sends a chill down my spine.  
He isn’t smiling.


	5. Tricksters

From that moment on, we have no peace. Throughout the third day and well into the fourth, scores of medBots streak across the sky, Proctors trailing behind them. All either head in the direction of the western mountains, or return to Olympus. Some of the medBots carry wounded students, their limp bodies dangling like so many rag dolls. One of them drips blood onto my forehead as I gaze up at the spectacle from the rose garden. Felicia laughs at me as I flail off to the well room in disgust.  
How can she be so unfeeling? I flinch as the icy water hits my face. If it were up to me, I would never want to see blood again. As the water shifts and settles, I stare at my wavering reflection. Unlike most of my Golden peers, I was never trained in the arts of war. I was never gifted nor even held a practice razor as a child. Never hunted. Never trained in the deadly dance of Kravat. I had never killed anything larger than a wasp. Until a few days ago.  
Why wasn’t I actually born a Copper?

Smaller explosions continue to echo from the mountains throughout the valley, although none are nearly as large as the first. Fires in the foothills burn bright and orange throughout the night. Smoke clouds spread for kilometers around, blocking out the sun and polluting the air. We are not used to breathing such foul air, and we all cough violently, eyes watering. Most have taken to tearing off pieces of their bedsheets and wearing them across their mouth and nose for protection. Patricius wets his with well water. The mask works better that way, so the others and I do the same. Claudia seems put off that she did not think of it first.  
In all the confusion, House Mercury takes the opportunity to begin attacking us. Though, to be honest, “attacking” is too strong a word. Rather than invade us outright, as they had on the first day, they pelt us nonstop with river rocks. It’s amusing at best, irritating at worst. Anyone foolish enough to venture closer to the shoreline gets hit, but even with their powerful throwing speed the Mercury students are not able to hurl their stones far enough to reach beyond that. One girl can throw rocks well into the rose garden. Yet these are little more than pebbles, and we bat them away, taunting Mercury to try harder.  
Indeed, they do. Mercury builds slingshots, then small catapults from wood gathered from the nearby forest. They do not launch large boulders, as one might expect. No, the students of Mercury are an unpredictable bunch. Instead they pour multiple small stones into the catapults and fling those at the manor. A few of our boys and girls sustain minor injuries, but Mercury does not aim for them. They aim for the windows.  
The windows do not break. They hold fast, making a thump sound as they rattle and tremble. We of Venus scoff at this tactic; if the glass won’t break, why continue? Why not aim for us as we harvest the roses, plant new herbs, patrol our territory? Nevertheless, Mercury persists. They have taken to gathering their projectiles from the Argos during the day and bombarding us with them at night while most of us sleep. It makes no sense.

***

A week after the cataclysm, a warm summer rain at last falls over the valley. It clears the air, paints the sky a sparkling blue, and turns the tall prairie grass a brilliant green. A dewy breeze rustles the bushes as Felicia and I complete our rose harvest for the day. Half the time she tends to follow me around like a hyperactive puppy, and the other half she spends glaring while making some snide comment to another lowDraft about me. If I had the spine, I would have told her off by now. But I don’t, and I am in too good a mood today for her to bring me down. The valley is so beautiful. And so quiet. Usually Mercury would be out taunting us as they gathered river rocks by now.  
“What’s that on your ear?” Felicia remarks. Without hesitation, she reaches up and flicks it away. I hear a loud buzz, and watch out of the corner of my eye as a fat honeybee flies in a lazy spiral towards the manor.  
“Don’t move,” Felicia says. “There’s another one on top of your head.” She swats at it as though it were a fly.  
“I’d prefer that it not sting me.” I pull away, and the bee crawls across my forehead, its tiny feet tickling my skin, before it too takes off for the manor.  
“Sorry for trying to help,” Felicia mutters, her mood shifting yet again, her eyes turning dark and cold.  
She scowls, about to say something harsh and cutting, when the soft buzz of the two bees becomes a deep, low roar. A girl nearby shrieks and points. On the ground by the river is a huge insect nest. Streaming out of the nest is a swarm of bees.  
Above the roar we hear peals of laughter from across the river. Most of House Mercury is at their shoreline, dancing and leaping in glee, all too pleased with themselves. One Mercury boy, short with a trickster’s smirk and spiked hair, picks up a large river rock, tossing it playfully into the air. After the second toss, he hurls it across the river and bullseyes the beehive with a thwak. The roar is overwhelming as hundreds more bees emerge.  
“Run!” I scream at Felicia. She is frozen in terror. I grab her hand and pull her in the direction of the manor.  
All of us run, yelling hysterically as the swarm descends over us. The drawbridge is up. Some idiot left the slagging drawbridge up. Guards race over to lower it, but a few of the students refuse to wait. They attempt flying leaps across the moat. None make the jump. Down they go with a splash, fumbling and flailing in the dirty water. The guards struggle to pull them out.  
A tall midDraft with a long nose and wild eyes runs in circles behind us, waving his hands in the air as scores of bees follow. “Not the bees!” he cries out. Then he is down, bees continuing to swarm over him. In the chaos a medBot floats in from above and collects his unconscious body.  
For a moment we are too stunned by what happened to realize that the guards have lowered the drawbridge. The swarm turns on us. “Get inside! Get inside!” the guards yell, and we are off again, thudding across the bridge and through the courtyard.  
I feel sharp stings on my hands, neck, and face, parts of me that are exposed. The bees attack and then fall to the ground, writhing in pain as they die. Such a pointless waste of life.  
When we all reach the manor, the door flings open, and we are greeted by a wall of white smoke. The first to reach the door halt, fearing that somehow Mercury has set the manor aflame. A boy’s thin, muscular arm appears from the smoke like a specter. “Everyone inside!” Patricius waves us all through before slamming the door after the last student scrambles through.  
We cough and groan from the smoke and from our wounds. Patricius cracks a window and fans the smoke outside.  
“What are you doing?” Claudia snaps. “You’ll let the bees in.”  
Patricius glances at her, his smile sheepish. “Well, chances are good that I won’t.” Sure enough, no bees enter through the window. He shuts it.  
Claudia and Paris exchange a quizzical look as they begin to tend to the injuries of the others.  
“What now?” Paris asks. “The drawbridge is down. Our guards have withdrawn. We’re ripe for the plucking as far as House Mercury is concerned.”  
“Not necessarily,” Patricius replies. He gives Paris a toothy, devilish grin. Paris gulps. “I have a plan.”

***

“I don’t know how you managed to talk me into this,” Paris grumbles.  
Patricius chuckles. “Brotherman, I’m the son of a Politico. I can talk anyone into anything.”  
Paris’s ebony skin flushes as Patricius drapes him with a heavy blanket and tucks the excess into Paris’s boots. He has Paris don a pair of leather gardening gloves and a helmet borrowed from one of the guards, tucking the long blanket snuggly into those as well. A midDraft fills the teakettle from the kitchen with wet wood as Patricius instructed. Patricius lights the wood within and hands it to Paris, along with the House standard. He has Serena and Marcus dress the remaining guards in similar fashion.  
“There now! Show those Mercury Pixies they’re not the only ones with brains around here.” Patricius slaps Paris on the behind. Paris stumbles forward before trudging to the door, followed by the guards.  
I scramble to get a prime view of the courtyard through the window before the others crowd me, shoving me against the window. My bee stings send sparks of pain shooting through me. I cry out in protest. The others don’t listen.  
“So how do you know about bee husbandry?” I hear Claudia ask.  
“I watched a history of the subject on the HC a few years back,” Patricius answers. A pause. “I found it interesting.”  
Claudia scoffs, but I can tell she is impressed. Jealousy rushes through me. “You are like a walking encyclopedia,” she says. “Why are you not in Minerva or our good friend Mercury?”  
Another pause. “Venus was my mother’s House. I put in a preference because I heard good things.” Patricius’s tone changes. I can hear the smile in his voice. “Besides, wouldn’t you rather I be on your side?” I feel my fists clench. It hurts like hell, but I don’t care.  
“Indeed.” Claudia’s voice is cool, matter of fact. I relax a bit. If Patricius is flirting with her, she is not taking the bait.  
Outside the air has become thick with white smoke. From somewhere a war cry echoes, then is cut short. In the haze a helmed figure swoops and whirls, enemies falling in his wake. They wear professional beekeeper suits, but they are no match for his grace and prowess. The Venus guards remove the hoods of the fallen, and Paris presses the standard to their foreheads, one by one.  
House Mercury’s attack ultimately fails. We take ten new slaves while losing only one of our own to the swarm. When the drawbridge was raised, Mercury had nowhere to go. They no longer had operational gravBoots, and though they are lightning-quick, even they could not jump the distance needed to clear the moat. They would need horses for that.  
We steal their beekeeper suits and use the teakettle turned smoker to corral the swarm into an outer storage room near the courtyard. Thanks to Mercury, we now have honey and beeswax. When the smoke clears and the bees are safely in their new home, Patricius takes everyone outside to show us how to care for them and extract their honeycombs. That’s when he notices Mercury on the opposite riverbank, watching.  
“Thanks for the bees!” Patricius calls out to our neighbors across the river, waving. They respond with various obscene gestures, some with their pants around their ankles. “Lovely,” Patricius grimaces. Claudia makes a loud gagging sound.  
I avert my eyes, but snort to suppress a giggle at Claudia’s reaction.

***

With the latest victory, House Venus brims with confidence, even arrogance. We have won two out of three skirmishes with Mercury, and they managed to secure their one victory only because their Proctor cheated and gave his highDrafts gravBoots on Orientation Day. I hear the others chatter to each other in the halls and during meals. The drafters for Mercury sure picked a poor crop this year, they say. If Mercury is the ancient god of communication and intellect, why can’t these supposedly quick-witted, supposedly brilliant young Aureates form a coherent plan of attack that works? This year is sure to be a proverbial cake walk. We’re sure to have them all licked by the end of summer at the latest.  
The river rocks continue to hit our windows at night.


	6. Indolent House Venus

The changes are subtle enough, gradual. One or two students shirk their duties, preferring to sleep in. Nothing that taskmaster Claudia cannot handle. As the days progress, however, the situation becomes worse. Greater numbers of students do not wake when they are supposed to. They nap during the day. They no longer care when Claudia scolds them or Patricius tries to coax them. Production of food and toiletries falters.  
Those who continue to rise on schedule are irritable or sloppy. They don’t bring the rose blossoms to the vat on time, and so kilos of plucked roses are ruined in the heat. The vegetables in the garden begin to wilt in the bright summer sun when those assigned to irrigation duty are found sunning themselves by the river. Two boys and a girl who are tired of the vegetarian diet of the past month make an attempt to catch fish for dinner. They instead are caught by Mercury as slaves.  
The simple truth is that we are all exhausted. Mercury’s river rocks have become an instrument of slow torture. They fall with great irregularity; at times they are rapid-fire like a hard rain under gale force winds, and at others they are like the tapping of a tree branch in a soft breeze. Then they stop. All is quiet. We breathe a collective sigh of relief, thinking that Mercury has grown weary of this tired prank. And just as we are about to drift off to sleep at last... they start back up again.  
Factions begin to form among our formerly united House. Crafty, seductive Serena forms her own group, consisting of wide-eyed Marcus and a half dozen midDrafts. They do not see they merit in continuing to harvest, instead devoting themselves to hours of sunbathing and flirting. “The Pixies,” Claudia calls them. She tries to cut off their meals as punishment. The Pixies begin to steal food in response.

***

One cloudy morning, when a hint of autumn arrives in the form of fog, I awake from a short and restless sleep to hushed voices in the hallway by my door. I slide out of my bed and creep over to the half-opened door to hear more clearly.  
“Then what are we to do with them?” a familiar soft, breathy voice hisses. Claudia. “Do you honestly believe they will stop with theft, Patricius? They are doing Mercury’s dirty work. This is how our House falls, if we continue to do nothing.”  
Patricius stutters. “I-I know, Claudia, but what can we do? We try to punish them, and it does nothing. There must be some way we can bring them back into the fold.”  
My stomach sinks. I have never heard Patricius sound anything but confident. If he cannot find a solution, Claudia will be right. Our House will fray and fracture. We will lose. We will all be slaves to Mercury.  
Footsteps approach, heavy yet fluid, with a long stride. “You two discussing things without me again?” a deep, silky voice rumbles. I peek out and see Paris standing before them, arms folded, a scowl on his handsome face.  
“Someone thinks we can still win back the Pixies.” Claudia also folds her arms and stares down Patricius. Patricius bites his lip, his eyes narrowed in a mixture of hurt and anger.  
Paris ignores Claudia’s remark. “Look here, I know I’m not as dazzlingly clever as the both of you, but I thought, as your friend, you should include me in these debates.”  
Patricius turns on him. “Well, this wasn’t exactly a planned thing,” he snaps. “I was just trying to go about my day when Claudia took me aside and tried to convince me to get rid of the Pixies.”  
Claudia grabs Patricius’s forearm. “Quiet!” she hisses. “Do you want the entire manor to hear you?”  
“Well, perhaps they should,” Patricius retorts. “I say we let the rest of the House have a voice in this.”  
“Oh, enough with your vote-taking and consensus-making! Demokracy. Doesn’t. Work.” Patricius blinks his eyes with every word. He bites his lower lip harder. Claudia continues. “If you want power, you have to take it. Do you think that Octavia au Lune asked the Senate politely if she could depose her father and take his crown? No. What this House needs is a firm hand.”  
“We already tried a firm hand,” Patricius shoots back. “That hasn’t worked. But, yes, by all means, let us continue to repeat what doesn’t work, as an insane person does.” Claudia scoffs and rolls her eyes.  
“You both are overthinking this,” Paris says, still scowling. “As always. I say we do what Proctor Venus suggested at the beginning of the school year. Find other Houses. Form alliances. And we’re still vulnerable out here. We need to build an army, a real one, not a handful of guards that work different shifts.”  
“That won’t make a bit of difference if Serena and her cohorts undermine everything we have worked hard to build,” Claudia replies, massaging her neck with one hand.  
Patricius reaches out to her. “Need a hand?” he asks timidly. My heart thuds.  
Claudia slaps his hand away. Patricius flinches. “Don’t touch me. Don’t try to butter me up. It’s obvious you will not see reason.” With a sigh, she pushes past the two boys. “If you change your mind, I’ll be outside, managing those who still want to do real work,” she calls over her shoulder.  
Paris gives Patricius the side eye. “She has a point, brotherman.” He says the last word with sarcastic bite.  
“Don’t you start too,” Patricius growls, clenching and unclenching his fists. For a moment, they stare each other down. I chew the inside of my lip. They look as though they are about to brawl. But instead, Patricius brushes past Paris, bumping into the taller boy’s shoulder before stomping down the hallway in the direction of the manor hall.  
Paris turns and leans his head against the wall. He lets out a deep, trembling sigh, before hitting the wall with his fist and kicking it, teeth bared. The wall shudders, and I jump at the sound. Paris swivels his head in my direction, his cat-like eyes meeting mine. I gasp and shut the door. Though I already know he saw me, I leap into bed and pull the blankets over my head.  
I am frozen, unable to move, as though if I lay completely still I can disappear, or somehow I will be transported back to my room, to my family’s estate outside Yorkton. I try to think of my home, of the powerful, dry winds that will soon sweep across the valley and out to the vast ocean. But all I can think of is how Paris looked at me before I slammed the door shut. His eyes were not blazing with rage, but wide with fear. Pain.  
If the most confident students of our House are afraid, what hope do we have left?

***

I must have fallen asleep, because when I awake the fog has lifted, replaced with a brilliant noontime sun. In the distance I hear two women talking. I am about to approach the door when I realize that the sound is coming from the opposite direction, through the window. Behind the manor, Claudia strolls, in animated conversation with another, a statuesque woman with her brilliant hair in an updo. Proctor Venus. I stumble over the window seat, hitting my palm against the glass as I break my fall. They turn, seeing me, and in an instant they are dead silent. Proctor Venus has activated a jamField. They do not want creepy little eavesdroppers like me homing in on their conversation.  
Is Claudia in the lead for Primus? I haven’t exactly been keeping track. Out of curiosity I hurry to the main hall and stop in front of the Primus stone. Claudia and Patricius are tied at three bars each. Paris has two. Serena has one. That one Primus bar must have stroked Serena’s ego enough for her to make a play of her own.  
I wonder if the Proctors have somehow instigated this whole ordeal, this fracturing of our House. Another damned lesson. I wish the Institute had been a school in the traditional lecture-heavy style. I love history, languages, philosophy. I love learning about abstract concepts. Putting them into practice, however, I’m not so fond of. Whip-smart Patricius seems adept at that.  
Patricius... I see him sitting at one of the long tables, flipping through pages of old books. He closes one, pushes it away, picks up another, flips through that one. He appears to be looking for something. He pulls his thin hand through his thick hair, the bright golden strands shaggy and unkempt after weeks of inattention. He lets out a heavy sigh. Why isn’t Proctor Venus speaking to him? Does Patricius know that she is conferring with Claudia outside, at this very moment? That isn’t fair to Patricius; he has a right to seek our Proctor’s counsel just as much as Claudia does. Should I interfere?  
I should. Patricius deserves at least to know.  
I swallow my anxiety and approach him, hands balled inside my pockets. My mouth is dry. “Um...” I stutter. “Excuse me...”  
Patricius slams his book shut and spins around. Dark circles ring his eyes. “What?” he snaps. I pull my hands from my pockets and tuck them defensively to my chest. My first instinct is to burst into tears, but I hold back. The last thing I want is for Patricius to see me cry, my face red, nose dripping. An ugly sight.  
He relaxes as soon as his weary eyes meet mine. I look away, at the book he is reading. Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. History texts surround him, on the Treaties of Vienna and Versailles, on American diplomacy of the twentieth century. He is searching for answers in the distant past.  
“Oh. Hello, Copper. How can I help you?”  
I take a breath, hoping it will slow my heart rate. It doesn’t. I speak, and my voice trembles. “I... I just thought you should know...” Another breath. “That... that P-proctor Venus is with Claudia in the field behind the manor.” Deep breath, and the rest of the words rush out. “I thought you would want to speak to her as well.”  
Patricius frowns. “I’m sure she would prefer only to speak to Claudia. If she wanted to talk to me, she would have appeared before me as well, right?” His voice is harsh, devoid of the bright and friendly quality it usually has.  
My face reddens. This was a mistake. “O-oh,” I mumble.  
Patricius lets out a loud groan. He rubs a hand across his eyes, dragging the skin. “I’m sorry, Copper.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m afraid that I haven’t had much sleep lately. I doubt anyone has, to be perfectly honest. You’ll have to excuse my poor manners.” He turns back to his books. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” he says flatly.  
Patricius does not seem all that grateful that I told him. Perhaps he thinks that I’m trying to cause trouble. Or perhaps he no longer cares about being Primus.  
Perhaps I should mind my own business.

Outside, the heat of the sun gives little hint of the heavy fog that was there that morning. All that remains is stifling humidity. The roses have already been plucked for the day, and some of the more dedicated midDrafts are hard at work steaming them and combining the oils and rosewater with chemicals to make soaps and perfumes. We may not be well prepared to deal with outside threats, but we are likely the cleanest and best-smelling bunch at the Institute. At least, if the body odor-scented breeze coming across the river from Mercury is any indication.  
I try to help the others with production, out of a sense of guilt. They already have all the steps covered, and so I am not needed. Instead, I sit on the grass and stare out at the glimmering Argos, watching herons catch fish in the reeds. They stand like statues, their beady yellow eyes staring blankly at the water, and when you start to think that they are not likely to catch anything, they lunge. They hold their wiggling prey in their beaks for a few moments before swallowing it whole in several large gulps.  
My mind begins to wander, and it takes me back yet again to Yorkton, back to my home and family. My young sister, Cybil, turned thirteen years Earth metric a few months ago. Of anyone I have ever known, she has always been my closest friend and confidant. I miss our childish games, how we would roll down nearby hills, or see who could spin her arms in a circle faster, until our father demanded that we stop for fear that we would dislocate our shoulders. I miss the times when we would stay up well past midnight, looking out at the stars from our back balcony, wondering about the universe and what might be out there, and about where we would love to visit. We would discuss our futures, what we wanted to do with our lives and what we imagined our first loves would be like. She wanted a tall, handsome boy with a kind heart and a love of animals. I wanted a soulmate, someone who knew me better than anyone, who could read my mind and dream with me about a better world beyond the horizon.  
Cybil never wanted me to go to the Institute. The day I received my admission letter, she begged me through sobs not to go. My parents and I tried to tell her that I had no choice in the matter, that I had to attend. She fled to her room and refused to come out for days. She always was a sensitive girl.  
The thing of it was that I never actually wanted to attend the Institute. My parents had encouraged me to apply, and had put down a good chunk of the family wealth in order to pay the admission fees. It was the best way to advance, they said, so long as I did well. I had a feeling, though, that they were more concerned about advancing the fortunes of House Ursus than about advancing the fortunes of their eldest child.  
I had often dreamt of traveling the worlds, leading Yellows on anthropological expeditions to Earth. Falling in love. Having children. None of those dreams involved a deep razor scar cut across my right cheek.  
Or a dead Gold girl, lying naked and bloody in a dark hidden room.  
As though to force my mind out of such thoughts, I jerk my head back toward the manor. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Claudia and Proctor Venus, still engaged in deep, silent conversation. Claudia nods. The two shake hands and begin to part ways.  
A question begins to form in my mind. Not about the two of them; about my place in all this. Courage fires my veins. Nervous energy twists my stomach. If I do not ask now, I may never have this chance again. I rise and, balling my fists in determination, head straight for Proctor Venus.  
Claudia raises an eyebrow at me as she leaves and I approach, but says nothing. Venus checks her datapad, and there is a loud pop as the jamField is deactivated. She has her back to me.  
“Pardon me, Proctor,” I say, my voice more steady than usual.  
Proctor Venus’s shoulders slouch. Much of my former confidence vanishes. I’m annoying her. She turns, plastering a false smile on her face, her voice candy-sweet. “Yes, Liliana?” Her face is covered in makeup. I detect a hint of exhaustion in her demeanor. Seems as though she isn’t sleeping much better than her students are.  
Why am I bothering her? I’m no candidate for Primus. I was not even supposed to survive the Passage. I’m wasting her time.  
My Proctor’s eyebrows arch. “Yes...?”  
I’m here now. May as well get on with my question. “I’ve been meaning to ask you--why was I chosen for House Venus?”  
Venus lets out a brief sigh, but tries to maintain her friendly demeanor. “Liliana, Drafters are required to choose one hundred students for each House. Sometimes trades are made, sometimes substitutions occur. Not everyone is a perfect fit for their House. For example, Minerva has a large boy of relatively low intelligence who might have done better in, say, Mars, but he’s doing brilliantly from what I’ve seen.” She turns to her datapad, pulling up files and flipping through documents. “Your test scores show that you might have done better in Mars yourself, for your relatively high rage index. Or perhaps Pluto, for resourcefulness and cunning. Proctor Pluto found the darker side of your nature as reflected in your holoSim performance quite impressive, though in the end the Drafters went with a more well-connected pick. Or Jupiter, for tenacity.”  
Odd. I never considered myself to be dominant in any of those traits. I have no idea why I would have been considered for House Mars, or Jupiter, or Pluto, or what she speaks of in reference to the holoSim. All I remember is that those key-stealing elves in the game really irked me.  
“But, here you are,” the Proctor continues, returning the datapad to its home screen. “I suggest you make the most of it.”  
“Please, Proctor Venus.”  
Her mouth narrows into an irritated line, but she humors me and rechecks her datapad. “Subject Liliana of House Ursus...” She mutters my statistics under her breath: my birthplace, date of birth, my dismal slangSmarts test scores. “Subject exhibited highly manipulative characteristics. When exposed to extreme heat, cold, and high gravity, pleaded with administrators to have conditions returned to normal.”  
I don’t recall doing that. But the physical tests were so grueling that I do not recall many things from that day. Particularly after I was hit in the head with one of the balls during the reflex test. So they tell me. I don’t remember that happening either.  
She scans the rest of the documents. “That’s about it.” She glances at me. “If I may be so blunt, you lucked out by being selected for this House. This is a paradise compared to what some of your fellow students are up against.” Her eyes wander to the foothills skirting the distant mountain range to the west. “Count yourself among the fortunate and leave it at that. Now if you will excuse me, I’m afraid I’m rather late for a meeting.”  
Without another word, she presses a button on her uniform, and she vanishes from sight. A ghostCloak, then. What other little tricks are the Proctors using to spy on us? Are we like test subjects in an Old Earth experiment, like white rats in a maze?

I feel no more confident about my position here at this school than when I approached Proctor Venus. I decide to return to my room and rest on it until dinner time. The sun is setting earlier now, and its golden rays shimmer off the Argos and the leaves of riverside trees as they blow in the breeze. With much of the work finished early for the day, the others chat with each other in small groups. Some drape their arms around one another. I try not to meet their judging eyes as I return to the manor entrance and maneuver past them to the hallway.  
I am just about to open the door to my room when I stop. I don’t recall shutting it when I left earlier. I grasp the handle, turn, and push.  
I am met with a gasp, then a loud giggle. It takes me a moment for my brain to process what I am seeing. There, lying in my bed, tangled in my sheets, are Serena and Marcus. They are stark naked. Serena straddles Marcus, her perfect breasts dangling in his face. They both grin at me. They have no shame.  
“Uh oh,” Serena giggles. “Whoops. Was this your bed? Terribly sorry about that. We’ll have it back to you in a few.” Her apology sounds trite and hollow. She’s not sorry at all.  
Then Marcus pipes up. “Maybe she would like to join us?”  
Serena gives his chest a half-hearted slap. “Fool. Don’t be disgusting, you sordid Pixie.”  
“Ooh, do that again,” Marcus purrs. Serena obliges, harder this time. Marcus pulls her into a deep and sloppy kiss. Slowly, not knowing what to do or how to process what I just witnessed, I close the door.  
I return to the main hall, completely numb. I sit down after choosing a book from our small library. I don’t even know which book it is. I glance at the cover. Poems of the English Romantics. I turn to a random page and start to read “Kubla Khan” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. I am barely through the second line when a high-pitched shriek rings throughout the manor. I look up from my book; did anyone else hear that? A few students turn their heads in the direction of the left wing of the manor. A second shriek pierces the air, then another. The students return to what they were doing. Some mutter, others roll their eyes at one another. They know what I already supposed. Serena and Marcus.  
I try to return to my book. “In Xanadu did Kubla Khan/ A stately pleasure-dome--” Another shriek rings out. “A stately--” Another. “A stately pleasure-dome dec--” Another. “A stately pleasure-dome decree--”  
“Oh, yes!” screams Marcus from down the hall.  
“Oh, no!” a Mercury slave yells in reply. Laughter from most of the others, Venus and Mercury alike. A long series of eerie cries follow.  
I do not look up from my book again. I do not move, and my face makes no expression. But my hands are shaking.

***

Just before dinner, I gather hot water from the kitchen and set to work cleaning my sheets. If I work fast enough, they may be dry by bedtime. I scrub at the stains with generous amounts of rosewater-scented soap against a washboard in the bathtub. As I work, I curse Serena and Marcus in every foul word or phrase I know in midLingo, highLingo, and Redspeech, as well as in the dead languages of Latin, English, German, Spanish, Mandarin, and Japanese. Not since the Passage have I been so infuriated.  
Would I be punished, if I were to march into their rooms tonight and strangle them in their sleep? Would I be exiled, expelled? Put to death? I briefly consider the option.  
Perhaps this is what Proctor Venus meant when she told me that I could have just as easily been placed in Mars or Pluto. That barely contained, irrational, murderous rage. It is further proof that I don’t belong here, in Venus. The others don’t seem to be concerned about it.  
Then again, the others didn’t have their sheets contaminated by those two horny Pixie shits.  
Minutes later I hear Claudia enter the room. “Why are you washing your sheets? Didn’t you just wash them two days ago?”  
I look at her over my shoulder. “Serena and Marcus.” Her face is telling. For a split second she is frightened of me. I don’t care.  
“What about Serena and Marcus?”  
“I walked in on them.” Goryhell, I barely recognize my own voice. I sound downright demonic.  
“Oh,” says Claudia. She grimaces. “Ew.” Yet she fails to help. “So they’re dirty, your sheets?”  
Obviously. I nod.  
“You let them finish?” she asks incredulously.  
I nod again.  
“Why didn’t you kick them out?” she demands, her voice rising in volume. “It’s your bed.”  
I can’t answer that; I don’t even know the reason why I let them walk all over me. I shrug one shoulder in response. Claudia lets out an exasperated sigh and leaves the room. I return to my laundry, and to my stream of curses. 

During dinner, I notice that Paris, Patricius, and Claudia are all sitting at separate tables. They take great care to avoid one another. Serena is sitting on Marcus’s lap. I stare daggers in their direction. Felicia sees the book of poetry clenched in my hand and tries to make one-sided conversation on the English Romantic movement. Normally I would join in; classical literature is something I enjoy, and I understand English as a second language. But I am not in the mood. Felicia notices.  
“You really shouldn’t be so rude to those who are trying to be your friend,” she snaps. She snatches the poetry book out of my hand and flounces away. I feel guilty, until I remember the evening she embarrassed me in the dining hall because I said “hi” instead of “’lo.” She would do well to follow her own advice.  
Soon after, I retire to my room. My sheets are still not yet dry. Figures. I fall asleep on the bare mattress.  
I dream that I am wandering across darkened moors at night, fog covering the ground. Someone whispers Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan” in the original English. In the distance, something cries out, neither animal nor fully human. Cold air chills my bare skin, and it is then that I realize I am naked. I attempt to conceal my nakedness, but my arms refuse to move. The cry echoes across the moor, this time distinctly human, a woman’s cry. As I try to find where the sound is coming from, there is a hissing noise in my ear.  
“Pst!”  
I awake with a start. The room is dark, and cold. I reach for my blankets and remember that they are still drying. I’m about to fall back asleep when I hear it, a familiar cry from down the hall.  
Serena and Marcus are rutting again.  
In exasperation I let out a growl. Above me, I hear another loud “Pst!” I turn, and jump at the shadowed head to the left of me, long hair swinging. It takes me a few seconds to realize that Claudia is dangling part way over the side of her top bunk. She jerks her head toward the bathroom. I look and see the outline of a bucket by the door. The dirty water from the wash I did earlier. Claudia had wanted me to throw it out when I was done, but in my emotional state I had completely forgotten. I look at Claudia again, and I know what she wants me to do. Satisfied, Claudia pulls herself back into her bunk and rolls over with a sigh.  
My heart pounds, but I know that if I do not take action, no one else will. This has to stop. I hear another shriek of pleasure from down the hall. I leap out of bed, grab the bucket, and hurry with it down the hall to Marcus’s room before I can change my mind.  
The door is wide open. They don’t care. Their dark forms thrust and gyrate atop the lower bunk. They don’t see me. Marcus lets out a deep moan. Serena giggles. She turns her head in my direction. “Hey--”  
I dump the bucket of dirty, soapy water all over them both.  
“Ugh!” Serena cries out, this time in disgust. I smile deviously and hurry from the room, dropping the empty bucket, grabbing my still-damp blankets from the window and throwing them over me. I lay still. Maybe she couldn’t see who I was in the dark. Maybe if I lie still, she’ll think that I’m asleep.  
“Goodnight, Copper,” Claudia says in a pillow-muffled voice.  
“Goodnight, Claudia,” I reply. Her breathing becomes slow and heavy as she drifts back to sleep.  
Not three minutes later, Serena bursts through the door. “Claudia! That Copperheaded ninny roommate of yours just poured dirty water all over me while I was asleep!”  
Claudia’s mattress shifts and creaks as she turns over. “Somehow I doubt that, Serena,” she mutters, her voice husky and drowsy.  
“She did! I saw her run down the hall. No one else has hair like that.”  
Claudia sighs. “Can’t this wait until morning?”  
“No, it can’t! I demand she be punished.”  
I hear Claudia slide over and hop down from her bunk. “Very well. I’ll wake the others.”  
“Wait,” Serena says. “I thought we could take care of this ourselves...”  
“No, this matter involves the entire House.”  
“B-but...” Serena stutters.  
Too late. Claudia is already out the door and waking the others.  
Though my eyes are shut, Serena is not convinced. “Get up, you Copper worm,” she snarls, yanking the covers off and pulling me off the bed by the arm. Bruises form as she tugs me to my feet and hurls me out the door.

I sit in the great hall with the entirety of my House and the Mercury slaves, massaging my wrist. The others grumble amongst themselves. I hear a few complain that between Mercury’s pebbles and the Pixie couple’s boisterous slagging, they have not been able to get a wink of sleep.  
Claudia stands near the Primus stone, holding one of the wooden staffs used in our first scuffle with Mercury. “I will have your attention,” she says in a clear voice, masking her lack of sleep. The others continue to chatter away. Claudia frowns. She raises the staff and raps it on one of the long tables. “Your attention!” Everyone quiets. “That’s better.”  
I see Patricius in one corner and Paris in the other. Paris’s arms are crossed, his nose raised at Claudia. Patricius rubs his temples. His eyelids are dark and puffy, the whites of his eyes turned rosy pink. He looks as though he has not slept in days.  
“I have called you all together because we have a problem in need of a solution. I am sure you all have an idea as to what that problem is.” Claudia frowns in Serena’s direction, and many of the others do the same.  
Serena’s mouth drops open with a huff. “I have done nothing wrong here! You were supposed to punish Copper for soaking me with filthy dirty water while I was trying to sleep peacefully in my room.”  
I ball my fists under the table. That liar. How dare she.  
Patricius emits a loud snort. “Doubt it. From what I heard there was not a whole lot of sleeping going on.” Snickers and whispers from the others follow.  
Serena glares at Patricius, then turns to address the group. “Nevertheless, she should not be allowed to get away with it. She needs to be punished. What sort of example is it to the rest of the House if anyone is allowed to assault their classmates for such a minor infraction?”  
I have heard enough. I rise from my seat, my temper flaring. “How about when a classmate uses another’s bed for a tryst without their permission, hmm? And makes them wash their own sheets afterwards? I know I am not the only one who feels this way. In fact, Claudia--” I look over at Claudia. She folds her arms. With a look she tells me to keep my mouth shut. She doesn’t want Serena to know that she was the one who suggested I pour the bucket over Serena and Marcus. My classmates stare back at me, judging me. My face flushes. I have said too much. I close my mouth, avert my eyes, and sit back down.  
“In any case,” Claudia sighs, “we have a much bigger problem before us. The cohesion of our House is dissolving. Certain students have been shirking their duties.” She glowers at each of the Pixies in the group. “Many of us are having difficulty sleeping at night. In part because of Mercury, but also because Serena and Marcus cannot silence their passion.”  
“There is nothing wrong with us!” Marcus declares. “You prudes cannot stomach healthy sexuality. You’re all jealous of our love.”  
“I think we would all appreciate the beauty of your love more if we could sleep at night,” Paris shoots back. “Serena is my roommate. Or rather, she is half of the time. When she’s not in Marcus’s room.”  
Claudia ignores their interruptions. “Serena, you have offered us only dramatics and disruption. You encourage the others to be disobedient and indolent. For these reasons I propose the following: that Serena be banished to House Mercury, as a slave and spy, until she has proven herself loyal enough to rejoin her House.”  
Marcus leaps to his feet in outrage as the Pixies protest around him. “You can’t do that! Serena has done nothing wrong!” He wheels on me, large eyes blazing. “Send Copper.” I cannot believe what I am hearing. Since when have I become the scapegoat? “No one wants her here. She sulks around, creeping and eavesdropping. She’d make the perfect spy.”  
“No--” I start, but am drowned out by the rising tide of voices filling the hall. Some want to send Serena. Some want to send me.  
I can’t go to Mercury. As cruel as my fellow Housemembers are, they are nothing compared to those of Mercury. Here I am ignored or seen as a source of irritation. At Mercury I would become the butt of countless pranks and mean-spirited jokes. My memory flashes back to orientation day, to the curly-haired boy in gravBoots who lifted me off my feet and tried to carry me across the river. His cruel smirk is seared into my brain.  
I try again to speak above the crowd. “Don’t do this...” Again my protest falls on deaf ears. Again I am powerless. I feel as though I am sinking slowly into the floor, the gravity of my fate pulling me under, waves of hostile voices washing over me.  
Patricius steps forward, holding another staff. He knocks it against the floor. “Oy, quiet!” he yells, snapping me out of my state of futility. Everyone is dead silent. Patricius never seemed the type to yell in anger. Claudia watches him with cold eyes. “Thank you.” He exhales. “If I may speak plainly. Serena is the problem here, not Copper. Sending Copper to House Mercury will solve nothing.” Serena’s eyes glimmer with animosity. Some of the others mutter to each other, but Patricius continues to speak over them. “Copper has done nothing wrong. On the contrary, she has proven herself to be a reliable, hard worker. Serena has proven the opposite. If Serena stays, we’ll never get any sleep.” He lets out a mirthless chuckle. “And I don’t know about all of you, but I badly need some sleep.” He turns to Claudia and awaits her response.  
The numbness within me begins to melt. Warmth replaces cold. Patricius defended me. He does not see me as useless or a creep as the others do. He cares.  
Claudia nods. “I agree,” she replies. My dread has almost vanished. I begin to relax. I am not unwanted. But then, Claudia turns. She pins me with her icy stare. “To a point.”  
My stomach flips. Tension returns. What does she mean? Has she changed her mind?  
Claudia’s eyes leave mine. She scans the audience as she elaborates. “The problem with Copper is also the problem with many of you: behaving as though this were a holiday. She, and many others here like her, do the bare minimum required of them before spending the rest of the day in pursuit of their own pleasures. Whether that is staring off into the distance,” she eyes me pointedly, “or frolicking like wanton nymphs and satyrs. This isn’t a holiday. It has been weeks since our orientation, and we have formed no alliances, defeated no enemies. We are locked into an endless stalemate with an enemy that is gradually wearing us down, from without and from within. I know some of you agree with me.” She looks to Paris, who reluctantly nods. “I am sure you all know by now that I have met with our Proctor. She informs me that to our north, House Juno gains strength. Two of our scouts have returned and confirmed this. More enemies lie to our south and west. We can continue to squabble and waste our days cavorting like spoiled children, and wait for more organized Houses to swoop in and enslave us, bringing our little vacation to an end. Or, we can reverse course, move as one unified House, and solidify our defenses. Put an end to House Mercury’s games once and for all.” Her sharp eyes meet mine for a brief moment, before I look away. “If need be, exile both of them. We can no longer afford to carry dead weight.” Her words make me flinch as though she had struck me.  
“Now wait a minute,” Patricius starts, his voice softening the blow. “Copper is a valuable member of this team. Earlier today she took the initiative to tell me that Proctor Venus had arrived.” His eyes narrow at Claudia as she folds her arms. “Then I saw her speak to our Proctor herself. If we are to take on a more dynamic tack from now on, we need more students who display a boldness of spirit, even if it is a little more sporadic than we might like.” I shift in my seat at Patricius’s double-edged compliment. “However, I am not the Primus of this House. No one yet is. So the real power lies with us all. Ergo, I propose we bring it to a vote. Three choices. Exile only Serena. Exile only Copper. Or exile them both.” He turns to Claudia, his mouth a tight line. “That is, if you are comfortable with a bit more Demokracy.”  
Claudia waves dismissively. “At this point in time, anything that will bring us to some sort of decision is a step forward.” She tilts her chin up, rolls her shoulders back. She already has the air of one named Primus. “By show of hands,” she declares in a loud, clear voice, much of its trademark breathiness erased. “Who believes both should be exiled? One vote, one choice. Those of Mercury are excluded.” Patricius looks as though he wishes to argue on the last condition, but changes his mind.  
I turn, and see rows of hands raised. I turn numb. Felicia raises her hand from the back.  
Patricius tallies the amount. “Twelve. Who believes only Copper should be exiled?” More hands go up. Felicia fidgets. She raises her hand again.  
“I saw that, Felicia,” Claudia barks like a no-nonsense tutor. “Did you hear what I said? One vote, one choice.”  
Felicia’s face reddens. She drops her hand. She looks as though she is about to cry. I feel a little sorry for her. Only a little.  
“Fourteen, excluding Felicia. Who believes that only Serena should be exiled?” Patricius’s bleary eyes scan the room as hands raise. He raises his own hand. More hands raise. Yet it isn’t enough. The plan to exile me is ahead by one vote. My breath catches in my throat.  
Then a long, muscular arm raises from the corner. Paris glares at Serena as he lifts his hand. Seeing this, Claudia lifts hers, breaking the tie. I breathe out. I stay.  
“The votes have it,” Patricius says, relief in his voice. He turns to Serena. Paris leaves the corner to join him. “Serena of House Venus, henceforth you are hereby exiled to House Mercury, until such time that we deem you fit to return to us and serve us with loyalty.”  
Serena’s lovely face is pale. Her full lips flap, but say nothing.  
“You can’t do that!” yells Marcus. He tries to lunge at Patricius. Two students wrestle him to the ground.  
“We just did,” says Claudia, sneering. “At least this way, Serena, you can do whatever it is you do best and still be useful.”  
“But, then I’ll be a slave!” Serena whines.  
“If you’re a good spy, not for very long,” Paris says. “This is your chance to redeem yourself.”  
“T-then I’ll tell all your plans to Mercury!”  
Patricius frowns, rests his chin between his thumb and forefinger, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hm, wouldn’t that be a terrible shame. All our detailed plans about gardening, and beekeeping...” He furrows his brows. “Paris, weren’t you complaining earlier about us not having detailed plans of attack yet?”  
“No, that was Claudia,” Paris answers, a grin forming across his face. The first time he has smiled in days.  
“I think we’ll be just fine here, Serena, thank you,” Patricius snarks, his golden eyes narrowed. Serena lowers her eyes, resigned now to her fate.  
A heavy sob echoes from the floor, from Marcus. I cannot bring myself to feel sorry for him at all.

***

We keep Serena bound with rope that night, under heavy guard. At dawn, we deliver her under momentary truce to House Mercury as their new prisoner. They welcome her gladly.  
Yet the discord Serena had sown is not quite over. Late one night, Marcus helps a small band of Mercury students on a raid against his own House. Some are subdued and captured, but not before they manage to sneak across the lowered drawbridge and foul our well water. Marcus escapes along with the rest of the Mercurians. We have not seen him since.

From now on, we must boil all water before use. Patricius works at constructing a large charcoal filter with some of the others. Toiletry production has ground to a halt, though it has freed up more students for guard duty. Since he has already had extensive combat training, Paris is named captain of the guards and begins to train the high- and midDrafts. LowDrafts like me continue to act as Browns: cooking, cleaning, and tending the garden. I try to be grateful that I am serving here instead of under Mercury’s thumb.  
Paris, Patricius, and Claudia reconcile. When they are not busy managing various tasks, they are often seen together, discussing important House business or joking around as close friends do. Patricius has taken to calling their trio the “Council of Three.” The rivalry for Primus eases; the needs of the House come first.  
Initially, Mercury continues to pelt our manor with stones at night. Then, after a little over a week, the night air grows quiet. We had become so used to the noise that the silence is strange to our ears. Across the river, all firelight is extinguished.  
The next morning, Mercury is gone. Vanished in the night, as if they had never existed, save for empty wooden docks at river’s edge. No word as to where they might have gone to. Claudia sends out a small scouting party to determine their whereabouts. Except for reports of a small encampment near the Greatwoods many kilometers to the south and a few boats spotted drifting on the river, there is no sign of House Mercury.  
“Good riddance,” Claudia says over her morning tea. She requests another cup as I remove her empty one.  
“I still don’t like it,” Paris says as he picks at a plate of apple slices. “What if they’re gathering allies and planning an assault?”  
Patricius dabs at his mouth with a napkin. “That’s a possibility. But knowing Mercury, it is also possible that they simply grew restless. We weren’t budging. Perhaps they slagged off to find a less stubborn opponent.”  
“Language...” Claudia mutters into her tea. Patricius blushes. “I hope you’re right,” she adds with a small smile.

***

Days pass, and there is still no sight of Mercury. Paris takes the opportunity to train the guards in Kravat. Claudia instructs the lowDrafts to expand the apple orchard and the herb gardens to the far side of the manor property, nearest the western mountain range. I haul a heavy load of shovels and hoes from the courtyard to the empty field, Felicia trailing behind me and carrying nothing. She behaves as though the night that I was almost exiled never happened, and she had never voted twice to send me away.  
I throw the tools down as I reach the field, exhausted. “Oy, be careful with those,” a boy calls out. I ignore him and wipe my sweat-drenched hair from my forehead, enjoying the cool breeze blow down from the mountains and into the river valley. Tall grasses beyond the moat wave in the wind.  
It is then that I see them. Figures in the grass. Not far from us, either. There are at least twelve of them. They are walking upright, slowly. As though they were dragging their feet. Their arms hang limp at their sides.  
My mouth opens to call for help, but no sound emerges. Instead, Felicia screams.  
The first figure approaching us totters, halts. Her eyes turn white as they roll back into her head, and she collapses into the grass.


End file.
